Hey There, Heroes
by weedonscott
Summary: An old friend shows our heroes who's next to help the helpless. Oneshot, please R&R!


**Disclaimer:** Not mine, as I think everyone knows.

**Summary:** An old friend shows our heroes who comes next to help the helpless. One-shot. Please R&R!

"Hey there, heroes."

Angel opened his eyes.

"Oh my God."

He was floating. This was strange in and of itself. The wounds from which he had died were gone. And around him... the precious friends he had thought were dead.

"Cordeila?" Gunn gasped.

"Hi, Gunn! How's it going?"

Wesley was nearly speechless, but Spike voiced his thoughts.

"Fred?" he croaked. Fred grinned. Angel turned to look at him.

"Spike! You're not dead?"

"Don't look so disappointed, Peaches!"

"I-I just thought..."

"You _are_ dead," a voice interrupted. "And thank you ever so much for noticing me. Really, I'm touched. It's made my day." They turned toward the voice.

"Doyle." Angel's eyes were mysteriously damp.

"The real Doyle?" Spike asked in a stage whisper.

"Yes, the real Doyle!" Angel snapped. "As opposed to Lindsey, who _wasn't_-"

"Hey!" Doyle yelled. "Can we concentrate here? For the love of God, we're being reunited after our deaths, would it kill you to be civil to each other?"

"Where are we?" Gunn demanded suddenly of this odd-looking stranger. "Did you say we're dead?"

"Duh!" Cordelia laughed, taking Angel's arm. "What was the giveaway, the battle for the end of the world or the floaty whiteness?" Doyle sighed.

"Yes, we're dead. Some of us have been here longer than others, but we are all dead."

"So it finally happened," Wesley whispered softly. Memories of facing Vail and seeing Illyria's face above his own flashed through his mind, and he flinched.

"Yeah." Fred took his hand. "It finally happened. But there's one more thing before we move on."

"Move on?" asked Angel apprehensively. His fists clenched, as though preparing for something unspeakably painful. A small, sad smile appeared on Doyle's face.

"You didn't think you were going to hell, did you, lad? After that finish? No. There's one more thing you have to see, and then we can rest."

"Really?"

Doyle looked at them pityingly.

"Yes, really."

"See, we've been put in charge of telling you what's going on," Cordelia announced, "since we've been here for longer. Having fought bravely for our cause and having been loyal and true – enough – and... all that stuff..."

"We're being allowed to see our successors!" Fred squeaked excitedly.

"Hey, I was gonna say that!"

"Our successors?"

"The people who are going to keep on fighting the good fight now that we're gone. The helpless are always going to need helping, you know. Now, stay close," Doyle cautioned. "We're leaving right about-"

A whooshing sound cut him off, and suddenly they were staring down at the world they had fought so hard and lost so much to protect. But they were no longer above L.A. Tall, shining buildings, suspension bridges... and a beautiful green statue of a lady with a lamp.

"New York," Angel whispered.

The picture they saw spiraled downward, deeper and deeper into the underbelly of the city that never sleeps. In that way it is so like Los Angeles, so like every other place on earth, its hidden world of violence and evil sending deadly tendrils forth to infect its every corner.

"Doyle?"

"Yeah?"

"You've been here for... a while. Tell me... did we make a difference?"

"You still having doubts about that? Yes, Angel, we did. All of us. I swear. And no matter how alone we may have felt, we weren't. There were always others. Like these guys. Been watching them for a while, and trust me, everything we went through was worth it. For them."

On a filthy, midnight street a pretty young woman is being followed. Her demon stalker flits nearly invisible from doorway to doorway, block after block until she disappears up the steps of an apartment building. Turning around, he makes his way back to a tiny set of rooms on a fifth-floor walk-up and lets himself in.

"Nancy's safe," he announces to the twelve-year-old girl sitting at the kitchen table, her nose nearly touching the pages of a huge, ancient-looking manuscript. "I killed the last of them while she was on her way home."

A vampire slayer holds hands with a boy with the smells of magic about him as they wander through a graveyard. A vampire leaps at them, and she whips out a stake... only to find that a spell from the boy has already turned it to dust. She kisses him, and they laugh, imagining her Watcher's reaction.

The Watcher in question reluctantly trains an even more reluctant Seer in how to use her powers for good. The Seer is terrified, and the Watcher is not particularly sympathetic. The Seer runs away.

The twelve-year old girl recognizes the slayer's boyfriend as a wizard, and asks for his help. He is astonished to discover that the Seer he used to know has been helping the girl and her demon friend fight evil on the streets of New York. The slayer follows her lover, discovering his whereabouts only after a pack of demons cuts off her arm.

Little by little, the group comes together. Coincidences, fate, and common enemies bind them to each other; the bitter young slayer, the over-cautious wizard, the terrified Seer, the little girl who is not truly human, her demon protector, and the too-stern Watcher. They are the last people anyone would expect, but they are the right ones. After all, a street kid, a nerd, a cheerleader, a bartender, an unrequited lover, a demon half-breed, a Pylean slave girl, and a poet were not exactly hero-material at first glance, either.

"So, if we're, like, some evil-fighting group... shouldn't we have a name, or something?"

"Yeah, sure. 'I get the visions, you solve a problem.'"

"'Like good neighbors, we're there... to fight off vampires.'"

"'Birthday? Bar Mitsvah? Sweet Sixteen? We even do weddings!'"

The newfound heroes laugh.

"What are we, a detective service? We don't need a name."

"We practically _are_, though. I mean, you know, we live like the world is as it should be. Fight the good fight. Help the helpless."

"Say, that's rather poetic."

"Thanks, Watcher."

"Now." Doyle smiled triumphantly. "You've seen the next generation. Wasn't that worth dying for?"


End file.
